


I Told You That You Wouldn't Get Gold

by Psychohamster21



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:02:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychohamster21/pseuds/Psychohamster21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stamkos doesn't go to the Olympics, much to the frustration of his General Manager, and he doesn't regret it one bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Told You That You Wouldn't Get Gold

“Are you excited for the Olympics?” Steve Yzerman took this moment alone with me to actually gush about the event in a few weeks. The smile on his face showed that he was looking past the blemishes that he had put on the event and it also showed that he didn’t understand why I still hadn’t smiled about the event. 

“I don’t know if I can go,” I didn’t even glance up at my GM; it was too hard for me to even now.

“You are on track to be okay, right?” Steve suddenly looked concerned. Though, the concern on his face wasn’t for my health, but rather for the shit storm that would be raised over which player would replace me. It was bad enough when they named the rosters, now if they didn’t put in a certain player that Yzerman didn’t want to acknowledge right now, then not only would the earlier scorn of Canada fall on his head, but a whole new rain of fire would follow it. 

“I don’t want to push it, you know that,” I groaned as I massaged my leg. I was fishing and I was silently thankful for the acting commercials I had done prior to my injury. 

“I don’t know who we would replace you with,” Steve said, stone-faced.

“I think you have a good idea who would be the best fit for a wing position on the top line,” I couldn’t help the crude sound of my voice, but he knew what I was saying. 

“The coaches don’t want him,” he said through grit teeth, “If I make them take him now I’ll look like even more of an ass. Not only will I be the GM who couldn’t pick his own captain who has been phenomenal, I’ll be the GM who said he was making decisions based on group decision, just to ignore the group decision in the end.”

“Of the possible replacements how many are doing as well as him who play wing naturally? Not that your team cares who plays what naturally. I’m surprised you didn’t have me in goal.” I should have been acting, but I was still so angry. My heart felt like it had been torn out when we got the news and the Olympics had been bittersweet for me ever since.

Steve thought for a moment, “You are well enough to go, aren’t you?”

“If I say that I’m not then I’m not,” I said quickly, groaning and rubbing my leg more now. 

Steve could tell when his arm was being twisted and he didn’t appreciate it, “You shouldn’t blackmail me Steven. I decide if you get resigned.”

“I’m not blackmailing you, and feel free to continue to make yourself captain unpopular in Tampa. I won’t have a home here, you shunned Marty, and you got rid of Cory Conacher. Tell me again how threatening me isn’t going to get you run out of town.” I knew I had a point and so did he. “This isn’t Detroit, you aren’t a god here. And me not going doesn’t mean you HAVE to take Marty.”

“You know it does,” Steve said as he circled the room, “I had enough of a media shit storm the first time.”

“Then just come out that it was the coaches already,” I grumbled, “We know it wasn’t you directly and you are shouldering the ridicule that should be on those idiots. You don’t think we are getting the gold do you? Seriously?”

Steve sighed, “So even if Marty doesn’t go in place of you, you still refuse to go?”

I nodded simply. I wanted to go more than anything in the world when I knew it was coming up, but ever since the announcement everything about the Olympics was tainted. At every turn, I tried my best to not see Marty’s pain in the event but I still felt my stomach twist when it was brought up. 

Steve clicked his teeth, “Fine, I’ll call them, but no promises. You are the devil.” And with that he was gone for the night, leaving me to my own devices. 

The next morning I was approached by droves of media and I actually put my acting abilities to work. I believed that I sold the argument that I was playing it safe and didn’t believe that I was ready to go play in Tampa, much less Sochi. And now the waiting game began. 

When I could steal a moment from my teammates, who were expressing the utmost sympathy for my inability to go to the Olympics, I bothered to check in on Steve and the progress of my replacement. 

“You know I shouldn’t tell you anything,” Steve said bitterly. 

“And you don’t have to, obviously. I’m just curious.”

“Well, you played your cards well,” he groaned. I was about to ask what that meant, but he continued. “They are taking him. They have to.”

I nearly squealed with the news. I might be able to see Marty smile the way he should have been. 

“I only hope he doesn’t reject us,” Steve said, which left a pit in my stomach. 

A few hours later I was sitting with Marty in the locker room, waiting for their game to start and he got the call. When he looked at his phone he was confused, and I thought that he might have honestly forgotten about the Olympics altogether if it weren’t for the media still harassing him about being left out. 

“Hello?” he spoke quietly so as not to draw attention to it.

It took every ounce of patience to not press my ear to the other side of his phone to listen in on the conversation. 

His conversation continued, “Yeah. Yeah. Sure. Alright. Okay, thanks.” And with that the conversation was over and then he looked like a marionette with cut strings. The small smile on his lips was the only thing that told me that it was a good message on the phone.

I looked at him curiously, “Good news?”

He nodded slightly still not moving.

“Are you going to be a daddy again?” I teased and I nearly got bludgeoned with his IPhone, but he was laughing which was a good thing. 

“I got called up,” he laughed as he relaxed in his cubby with an ever growing smile on his face. It took him a minute for it all to sink in and even longer to look over at me, “But now I’m taking your spot.”

“At least your broken leg has had twelve years to heal,” I patted my leg reassuringly. “You’ll do fine. Don’t feel bad about replacing me.”

The news was announced during the game, so he got a few hours of reprieve before he was swarmed by media to ask about his feelings on the situation. Even with the good news he would still rather talk about the game they had played that night, but he knew there would be no avoiding it.

Two weeks later I got a call from Marty in Sochi. I couldn’t tell if he was screaming or crying, but it was probably a little bit of both, and the sheer number of obscenities he used in reference to me in the first few minutes of the call told me he was frustrated. “Say that again, or did you become fluent in a new language in the last week?”

“Don’t play coy,” he was crying, I heard him sniffle. If he had a fault it was wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

“What’s wrong?” I mumbled quietly.

“You lied. You’re fine.” 

“Who told you that?” I hated hearing him cry as much as I hated seeing him cry, but I wasn’t going to cave so easily. 

“Who do you think?” I knew him well enough to know his anger was going to burn quickly and dissolve into a sob fest at which point I would have to try to mop up the puddle that he would become from a different continent over the phone. 

“Our ever loving GM?” I asked, hoping he might laugh, but there was just silence. 

“Stop acting like this is okay,” he roared into the phone. 

I knew his thought process and I grumbled because of it, “Look, it was my decision not to go. I’m happy I didn’t with how much you guys are getting banged up over there. Sure, I may have told a white lie about my reason for not going, but that doesn’t mean that I manipulated the system to get you to go. I made a hole. They decided who to fill it with. What do you think I am Marty, an evil mastermind?”

I got a giggle out of him, thank goodness. “Steve sure made you sound like one.”

I consoled him for the next couple hours until he had to go to sleep for the night. He called a few more times over the course of the Olympics and we chatted idly, not bringing up what I had done again. Steve even called once, grumbling about me making a coach eat his words or something like that. 

The Olympics were soon over and practice was to resume as soon as possible. I sat in the locker room, nearly falling asleep, knowing I didn’t have an excuse not to play in our next game. I opened my eyes to see a silver medal being dangled in front of my face. 

“It should have been yours, you know?” Seeing Marty’s knowing expression should have been intimidating, but I didn’t regret it one bit. 

“There is no guarantee that the team would have functioned any better with me there. Hell, we might not have even done well enough to place.” I looked at him and laughed, “Aw, come on, stop pouting. This is the stuff romance novels are made of!”

The way his face twitched also should have frightened me, “If you tell the media that we have a song, I swear on this silver medal that I will break your other leg.”

I was laughing so hard I hadn’t noticed our GM walk in, a small smile on his lips, which was a welcome change from the brooding glare he normally wore. 

“I told you that you wouldn’t get gold!” I pointed at him with an odd sense of pride and in that moment I had two men in the room who were ready to murder me.


End file.
